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‘You and Ted Francis are old friends. You’ve worked together many times. You told him that in return for getting him a commission at Stateside, he had to do a hatchet job on Mr Balon.’
‘I wanted him to tell the truth about Balon,’ said Bradley angrily.
Nicholas Collins snorted. ‘The truth? There were some serious criminal allegations in here: money laundering, favours given to known gangsters, and by extension, the insinuation of illegality to the whole of Mr Balon’s operation. And yet, as you acknowledge, as this court has heard again and again over the past weeks, there is not a shred of evidence to support any of these allegations.’
‘I just thought it was a great story,’ said Bradley defensively. ‘Rags to riches, mysterious shady benefactors. All I did was tell them about it. If they choose to spin it to make it sound more glamorous, that’s not my problem, is it?’
‘Spin it,’ repeated Collins. ‘Interesting choice of words. You mean spin as in “embellish”, spin as in “lies”?’
‘No!’
‘Let me repeat my question for the benefit of the jury. Did you ask Ted Francis to write about the unsubstantiated stories about Mr Balon’s connections to the Weston gangland family?’
‘Yes.’
‘And did you tell Jo Green when she edited the piece to keep it as incendiary as possible?’
‘I don’t have that power.’
‘Did Miss Green still get rewarded with your apartment for running the story?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘A deal was a deal.’
‘Rubbish. You dangled that fabulous apartment in front of her again on the understanding that she keep the Balon story as derogatory as possible. Yes or no?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why was this story, the tone of this story, so important to you, Mr Bradley?’
‘Because I want to see crooks exposed,’ he said fiercely.
‘You have a personal interest in this story, don’t you, Mr Bradley? You hate Mr Balon and you bribed Miss Green and Mr Francis to work to your agenda of getting revenge on him.’
Bradley shifted in his seat.
‘What happened to you in 1999, Mr Bradley?’ asked Nicholas Collins, still looking down at his notes. ‘The weekend of September the twelfth specifically.’
Helen noted the look of alarm crossing Bradley’s face. Jasper Jenkins saw it too and jumped to his feet.
‘Relevance, m’lud?’
The judge sighed.
‘Get to the point, Mr Collins.’
‘Certainly, m’lud. Mr Bradley was beaten up in an alleyway close to his flat. Beaten up rather badly, sustaining injuries that necessitated admission to hospital for . . .’ he checked his notes, ‘three days, I believe. Is that not correct, Mr Bradley?’
‘Yes,’ Bradley said quietly.
‘I understand you still bear a scar on your forehead from the assault.’
‘Yes.’
Helen saw the jury crane their necks to look. This was excellent stuff. Libel trials were usually mired in boring detail, and drama like this was all in Balon’s favour.
